


Just One Time

by groundyonly



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:42:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundyonly/pseuds/groundyonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Most of all I want to sleep. I want to sleep like I slept when I was a boy. Give me that. Just one time." Raymond Reddington doesn't sleep often, or for long. Lizzie learns why. Set sometime after "The Good Samaritan." Standalone. Please let me know what you think!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Time

“Agent Keen, we did not expect you to come.”

“How is he?” Liz asked, practically pushing past Dembe to get into the house. She quickly made for the living room, almost expecting to see Raymond Reddington sitting on the sofa, a scotch glass in his hand and a smug look on his face. When she didn’t, she turned to Dembe, her eyes full of worry.

“Raymond is resting,” Dembe answered, following her into the room. “His recovery will take time.”

“What happened?” she demanded, resisting only a little as the large Sudanese man ushered her to the sofa.

“The attack was brief but well-executed. Raymond was sitting at a table at a sidewalk café when the shots were fired. He was hit before anyone realized the assassin was there.”

“And no one could catch him?” Liz persisted. “In a crowded café, he got away?”

Dembe sat beside her, his eyes darkening at the memory. “I was the only one with Raymond. When I realized what had happened, I focused my attention on him. He was shot at fairly close range and shock set in very quickly.”

Liz furrowed her brow, now even more worried at not seeing Reddington. “Where was he hit?”

“In the abdomen.”

“Oh my God. Dembe, he needs to be in a—”

“The bullet has been removed. No vital organs were damaged. He has been in worse shape than this, Agent Keen. He will be fine.” He looked at her. “I will make us some tea.”

Dembe got up and left the room. Liz sat forward on the sofa trying to pull everything together that she had been told. She wasn’t even sure why she had come here today; when Dembe called and told her that there had been an incident and that Reddington had been shot, she had found herself inexplicably panicked. She didn’t want to like Raymond Reddington. He was a criminal, a traitor to his country, a smug know-it-all who had dragged her out of her comfortable life and into a maze of incredibly dangerous activity on a regular basis. He made her question everything about herself, everything about her marriage, even everything about her job. But clearly there was something that drew her to him. Was it the possibility of getting answers? Or was it the way he looked straight into her eyes, telling her without words that he was giving her everything he possibly could, and that somehow he _needed_ her?

She shook her head unconsciously. She was making all that up. Reddington was a criminal, freely admitting that he was never telling anyone everything. And he was lying in the other room now recovering from an assassination attempt no doubt because of his own illegal and unconscionable acts. Sleeping on a queen-sized bed in an old house, when he should in all reasonable circumstances be in a hospital where he could be monitored. Monitored, she considered thoughtfully, but not guarded. Not the way Dembe was guarding him now. Not in any way that Red could guarantee he was safe. And Liz knew that now that this breach had occurred, there was no way Dembe was going to move any further away from Red than necessary. Ever. So why, _why_ had she felt such an urgent need to see Red for herself when she was called?

She was still mulling over everything when Dembe came back carrying a silver tray with an exquisite teapot, two beautiful china cups and saucers, milk and sugar. He put the tray down on the table between them, and made to pick up the pot to pour, when Liz offered to do it. _Do something normal,_ she told herself. _All of this is just too unreal._

“How did you manage to keep the police out of this?” she asked.

“Raymond walked out of the café himself. It was not until we got outside that he collapsed. He insisted we come here.” 

They sat silently for a few moments, Liz thinking while waiting for the tea to cool. Eventually, she asked, “Can I see him?”

Dembe’s answer had an air of finality. “He is not fond of being watched while he sleeps.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sleep,” Liz said.

“That is not unusual. You do not live with him. Have you seen your Assistant Director Cooper sleep?”

Liz smiled and chuckled softly. “No.”

Dembe seemed pleased with her reaction.

They sat quietly for another minute or two. “Why do you protect him so much?” she asked finally.

Dembe didn’t look back at her, just into his tea, as though the answer was at the bottom of the cup. “Raymond is my brother,” he answered simply. 

For some reason, though she had sworn she would never care, Liz was still curious. “You two obviously have some kind of history. Did he do something to make you feel like you owe him? Did he save your life or something?”

“Many times,” Dembe replied. “And I have saved his, and then he mine again. We are friends. Raymond does not abandon his friends. I will not abandon Raymond.”

Liz thought about how she had been told Red had begged Anslo Garrick to spare Dembe’s life, and that when that failed and he fully expected his friend’s head to be blown off, Red had kept eye contact with him and prayed with him. The bond these two men had forged was immensely strong, and she knew then that Dembe was right. If Raymond Reddington cared, you were never alone. With no small amount of shame she realized then that this applied to her, as well. Reddington knew everything about her because he cared. Regardless of the reason, which she was not certain she would ever know, he cared about her.

Liz just nodded and the two lapsed back into silence. Dembe sipped his tea, undisturbed by her presence. Suddenly the sound of Red screaming met their ears. Liz jumped, startled, but Dembe just calmly put his cup down on the table, stood up and, looking at her and shaking his head to keep her seated, walked out of the living room. 

“No! _No!”_ Red screamed, and he continued crying out unintelligibly as Liz listened, beyond worried. She kept glancing back toward the doorway as the sounds eventually subsided, and after a minute of silence, Dembe came back into the room. He picked up his tea and sat down, but said nothing.

Liz looked at him in disbelief. “What—what _was_ that?” she asked, astonished that he was offering no explanation. “Is Red all right?”

“He is fine, Agent Keen.”

“I—I don’t understand; you didn’t even look concerned. What happened in there? Why was he screaming?”

“Raymond does not sleep long, or often,” he offered. “Too many demons come to him when he sleeps. The strong drugs he has been given leave him at their mercy.” He paused, then added, “He will not be taking the pills any longer.”

“What?” Liz’s mind reeled as she tried to absorb everything she was learning about Reddington today. Finally Dembe’s last statement filtered through. “But, Dembe, he needs those. The drugs will stop infection. They’ll help him to heal. Presumably they’ll also help with the pain. Even Reddington feels physical pain. He _needs_ them.”

“Physical discomfort is nothing next to what Raymond suffers when he sleeps. He will not be taking them any longer.”

Liz was trying to think of something to say in response to that when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked to the source. “Red!”

Liz jumped up and practically ran toward a very pale Reddington, who was standing in the doorway, bracing himself against the frame with one hand. The beautiful, dark blue, patterned satin robe he worse disguised his injury, but accentuated the effects of it on his face. “Lizzie,” he greeted with a weary smile. “This is a surprise.”

“Red, you need to be in a hospital,” Liz said, taking him carefully by the arm and gently leading him into the room. She considered the sofa, then thought it might be too hard for him to get back out, and redirected his steps to a small, hard-backed chair near Dembe. 

“That’s the problem with women, Dembe: always trying to tell you what to do.” Dembe smiled and nodded as Red sat uncomfortably. “Ah,” he noticed. “Tea. Pour me a cup, Lizzie, and tell me what brings you here.”

_“You_ bring me here,” she answered, caving in and pouring when as though within seconds Dembe produced another china cup and saucer. “Dembe said you’d been shot.”

“I’ve been shot before. This time it was personal. I should be honored by that; usually it’s simply business.”

“Red, it’s not something to make light of,” Liz insisted.

She handed the cup to Dembe, who handed it carefully to Red. He closed his eyes and drew the steaming cup under his nose, inhaling with delight. “Allegria Jasmine Burst green tea. A beautiful aroma, tremendously relaxing. Dembe, I won’t be needing those pills any more; just bring me a pot of this every two hours.”

“Do you know who did this to you?” Liz asked, trying to drag him back on topic.

“I do,” Reddington answered. “And when the opportunity arises I shall make sure that she pays for it.”

_“She?_ Who’s _she?”_

“A gentleman never tells,” Red quipped, though his bright tone of voice was dampened by his white face.

“Red, you should be in the hospital,” Liz said again. “And you need to take whatever medication you’ve been given. It will fight infection and you need the sleep; you look exhausted.”

“Lizzie, if you continue being so bossy I’m going to have to marry you,” Red said, his tone light but his voice rough. He held the cup and saucer out to Dembe, who took it immediately. “Thank you, Dembe. I find I’m not actually ready for that right now.”

Dembe nodded, then gathered the cups and saucers onto the tray. At a small nod from Reddington, he picked the tray up and left the room. “Lizzie, the woman who tried to kill me was sent by someone you need to know about.” 

Red opened his mouth to continue when his face suddenly turned ashen, and Liz could see beads of sweat pouring down his temples. “Red, you need to lie down,” she insisted, when it became apparent he couldn’t continue. She stood up and came to his side at the chair. “And you need to take the pills.” 

“The pills make me sleep,” Reddington stated hoarsely.

“I know,” Liz answered. “And that’s what you need more than anything right now.”

“Not so,” Reddington managed.

“Come on,” she said, putting her hands out to help support him as he rose, “let’s get you back in bed.”

“I don’t want to lie down, Lizzie.”

“Yes, you do,” she countered. She looked into Red’s eyes as he leaned heavily on her. “You just don’t want to sleep.”

He looked back at her, knew then that she knew his secret, and said nothing. She led him back into the bedroom, paying no attention to the crowded but tasteful décor and the book-lined walls of the large room. She helped him with some difficulty to sit on the side of the bed, and without removing his robe he lifted his legs back up, an action that left him breathless. Liz plumped up the large pillows and moved them so Red could lie at a forty-five degree angle. She managed to settle him back without too much discomfort, then she looked on the nightstand and found a bottle of pills and read the label on the side. “When was the last time you had these?” she asked.

Red shook his head vaguely, his eyes half-lidded but his face regaining some of its color.

“Better not to take them till we talk to Dembe, then,” she decided. She gazed at Red for a moment, then pulled the thrown-back quilt over him carefully. “You need to sleep,” she said to him, knowing by looking at him that he was doing everything in his power to avoid it.

“I don’t want to sleep, Lizzie,” he said.

Liz thought about this man who was strong enough to take on someone like Anslo Garrick, strong enough to survive the betrayal of his operation, strong enough to survive even the uncertainty of what had happened to his family, but who was afraid to close his eyes and surrender to sleep. She felt a sudden and powerful wave of compassion for this man of contradictions, and so she sat down on the bed beside Red and took his hand in hers. Though his concentrated stare was strong, his grip was weak. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered tenderly. “I won’t go anywhere till you wake up.”

“Then I’ll sleep.” And with a final squeeze of Liz’s hand and a whisper of a smile, Red gave in to his exhaustion and closed his eyes.


End file.
